There are pink rose
behind the razor wire,
the cups of some are already open
and the buds of some
still is closed.
Green stems protrude
over a white wall
where razor sharp wire
cordon it off
and the soft scent
of flourishing flowers
catches me while
I walk to the post box
to get some letters.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem